Do you ever feel like writing – like, really blowing something out of the water – but your mind is so muddled. So clouded.

That you can’t.

For the life of you.

Figure out what it is you wanna say. Or what it is that’s worth saying.

Well, hang on to your hats. Because that’s me this time ‘round.

I know I’m almost always obscure. Abstract. But in general, I mostly have an idea when I start a post, of how I want it to read. What point I want to smear across that foreboding blank page. What it is I want to say. What it is that’s worth saying.

But not today.

No, today, I come to you with open arms and a murky mind. And I ask you – What do you think I should say? What do you wanna hear? And what would make it all worthwhile?

Hard questions, I know. And more than likely, impossible to answer.

So, stuck here, am I. With a desire. A desire that cannot be fulfilled. Because I am failing to pinpoint the words, the meaning, or the value that I need to convey my purpose.

Heartbreaking, isn’t?

Sometimes, I think it would be nice to simply curl up on a grassy knoll. Under a rainbow, or maybe the stars. And let it all come to me. Because it seems the more I try to chase it, the further away it gets.

I know what you’re thinking. This blog is nebulous no more. It’s hastily becoming crystal clear that Hazy is hog-tied by the harrows of her habitat. She seems to be engulfed in the epic endeavors that go along with, well, existing.

You’re only half right. Yes, it’s true. I have found comfort in crafting cunning (at least I think so) tales of ballsy baristas, bereaved bowsers and bursting brains, but I’ve also been writing. Not dysentery dribble, but writing, making things up out of thin air, fabricating fairy tales, staging stories…working my Wonder Woman.

And, I have proof. The other day, after reading through a bunch my past blogs and realizing that most things I write are…for lack of a softer adjective…shite, I received an email telling me that I’ve made it through the first round of judging in another writing contest.

Sometimes I do believe in that higher power. The one that looks out to the turbulent waters, sees you’re drowning and tosses you a floatie in the form of a new follower, a generous comment or sometimes, a glimmer of those very specific affirmations we writers inadvertently crave ~ conspicuous creds.

While I’d love to share the black and white of it all, certain contests forbid submission of works that have been published in any way, including via personal blogs. Makes a blogger feel important, doesn’t it?

So, in the meantime, let’s talk about how much cream cheese I found when cleaning out my far-too-long forgotten fridge.

And unlike most other times, it took very little effort. They flowed as quickly as her willowy fingers could scroll them over the page. She didn’t look them up or second-guess, she simply wrote and wrote and as she did, her heart pounded with euphoric anticipation.

Within minutes the story had taken on a life and turned into something she alone, never could have conjured. The characters were vivid smudges of color on the chalky paper. Each one weird, wild and wonderful. Much to her delight, they twittered, twirled and twinkled in front of her very eyes.

Descriptions were riveting and the plot, engrossing. All awakened at her fingertips and she relinquished control of what was happening.

They took over. Grew more animated, more tangible. She felt a draft as they hurried past, saw the pores of their skin, smelled the booze on their breath. Heard them swallow as they ate the food from their plates.

She reached out, wanting to touch what seemed real, but her hand was slapped away. A feeling hard to describe, covered her like a blanket of ice. Her skin erupted in fear and her heart, still pounding, skipped a beat, maybe two, in shock.

As she stared in horror, the longhand scroll she’d so relished penning, rose up off the page united, and slowly, deliberately made its way around her thin, long neck.

“This is our story.” the robust rope seethed. “You can’t force us to do anything.”

The linked words were frayed at the edges and as they tightened, the delicate skin on her neck began to burn with the friction.

“Your words are ours now. You are ours now.”

As she lay limp, breathless and seconds from lifeless, her once enraptured heart finally stopped beating as she herself, became a part of the story that was never really hers.

An intriguing writer, new friend and born-to-be soul sister from, get this, Northern Ireland, approached me about taking part in a trending blog hop called The Next Big Thing. Flattered, proud and utterly gobsmacked, I accepted before she could change her mind. To peruse Lesley’s charismatic utterings on the subject simply click here.

Lesley Richardson is a writer from Bangor, Co. Down, who is currently writing her second novel, The Possibilities of Elizabeth. Her first novel, Biddy Weirdo, is yet to be published, but Lesley and her agent, Susan Feldstein, are hopeful that that will soon change.

Represented by the Feldstein Agency, Lesley has received a grant from The Arts Council of Northern Ireland and a writing bursary from North Down Borough Council. She launched her blog, Standing Naked at a Bus Stop last year.

Giddy with possibility, I rise to the challenge of fulfilling this blog hop quest:

What is the working title of your next book?

I currently have two WIP’s; About Face and Hazy Shades of Me

Where did the idea(s) come from for the book(s)?

I wrote About Face in 2009, coming up with it literally on a whim as I sat down to start my 50,000 words for a NaNoWriMo challenge. The words streamed onto the page, because you see, Lenore Nashun, my main character, looked a little less than friendly unless she was smiling. I simply had to come to her rescue and prove to readers her cool exterior was actually hiding her warm heart. The story took on a life of its own, as they most often do, and ended up being a mixture of mystery, romance, life lessons and love.

Hazy Shades of Me is a compilation of emotions and experiences morphed into short bites of metaphors. The title, obviously my blog name, could seem a short cut, but honestly, I thought long and hard and I feel it’s what fits best….for now.

What genre does your book fall under?

About Face is definitely Chick Lit, although that classification is somewhat forbidden these days and Hazy Shades of Me, is well, shorts of all shades in abstract form.

What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie?

Ryan Gosling. Really, he’s probably much too mature to play an aspiring young buck at this point, but I’m assuming it would mean I’d get to meet him, so I don’t care. Besides, as you’ll learn when you read my novel, make-up can work wonders.

Sorry, what’s that? The question refers primarily to the main character? Oh, okay. Well Jennifer Lawrence would be a pretty good pick.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

A young woman’s journey in finding herself through expression and oddly, a fundamental freedom from its hold.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

Oh, to have the luxury…I would dearly love for it to be rep’d by an agency. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

About Face: 30 days as per the NaNoWriMo guidelines, then add on the last four years for editing!

Hazy Shades of Me is very much a work in progress, still to be completed.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

I’m not sure about specific titles, but I tend to think Jennifer Weiner and Sophie Kinsella style when I read About Face.

As for Hazy Shades of Me, I honestly don’t know if I’ve ever read a book of short story metaphors. I guess I have some research to do!

What inspired you to write this book?

Writing is a long-time love, but NaNoWriMo is what brought it home for me in 2009. I bought ‘the kit’ as a sort of gag for both a friend and myself. We had been talking about ‘writing a novel’ for some time and I thought it would be something to give us a giggle. To my surprise, she took me seriously and the next thing I knew, we were scribbling 1,667 words a day. More if, heaven forbid, we had to resume reality and miss a day here or there.

The metaphors are, of course, open for interpretation and can mean what ever the reader needs them to, which makes them universally relatable.

Both ideas are fresh, interesting and original.

This is my time to sign off and pass the torch over to a few more stellar stars…again Lesley, thanks so much for the support.

Dex Raven:

Dex writes dark fantasy and horror, when his muse, Violet, cooperates. When she doesn’t, he still attempts to write with varying results. He has a thing for classic monster legends, Egyptian and Nordic mythology, coffee, sarcasm and words that end in “esque”. He is currently working on two books: a fiction/non-fiction mash-up and his first novel.

You will find his fiction as well as his thoughts on the writing process on his primary blog, Dex*Raven

My name is Gabriel Lucatero, an aspiring writer. Although Spanish is my first language, everything I write is in English. I don’t really know why I chose to do it that way, but I did it. I’ve studied the language for over 8 years and have written short stories (and a novel in progress) for the last 4 years. I like to write horror with a little bit of mystery thrown in. It was just recently, last October 2012 to be exact, that I decided to show my work to the world. “How else will you ever get published, duh!” I said to myself when I realized that my work couldn’t ever be read if it was in a dusty old drawer.

I’m just a mom on a mission to spread pearls of wisdom and random photos from her couch, with coffee in hand. I’m an artist at heart with a passion for photography and painting (which I don’t do nearly enough).

I detest doing laundry, especially ironing, and I loathe cleaning out my counter compost bins. I think there’s a mouse in our crawl space, and I’m hoarding a stack of old Weight Watcher’s books that I got every time I joined. Just keepin’ it real.

My favourite time of day is right after I drop off the kids at school, and I have an hour to myself just to sit with my dogs, coffee and computer, while I live vicariously through blogs, Facebook and Pinterest. People are just so damn fascinating.

They say the best are those who have no one, hermits, recluses, loners. Everyone they know, dead and gone, all chance of new connections sacrificed. Perhaps, purposely avoided.

I know a lot of people.

I like them. I want to keep them.

I think about and analyze each word, never mind sentence, that I write. It’s hard. Hard to write fiction that may be taken as truth. Is she the sexually abused, the office wallflower, the promiscuous teen…the brokenhearted?

Writing is a risk. People are always going to read into your words….your stories and make them into what they need them to be.

It’s dicey and, it. is. frightening.

But, it is what we’re gifting. Leeway. License. Liberty. Those who know us will get it.

The ice may crack, a bridge might collapse and we could be dealt a crappy hand.

Forget easy eights, but if we’re willing to work a hard six, we may just hit a lucky seven.

Well, it’s pouring. No, let me change that to bucketing. For some, a depressing downer of a wet day, but for me, a perfect opportunity to hole up fireside and delve into post number fifty-one.

I’m not sure why it’s taken me so long to come to this place and point for inspiration. After all, I love this lady, her story, her blog and her wonderful book. She came highly recommended by a friend of mine a few years ago and let me tell you, one taste and I was hooked.

A ‘foodie’ I am not, but I do eat the stuff and I find it’s much, much better when delicious. (Simply picturing me winking here is sufficient because when I actually do it, I look a bit like my back just went out) I digress…

This Superwoman does it all; blogs, cooks, writes books, snagged a husband is a wife, runs businesses, grows babies, photographs all of the above and looks fabulous while doing it.

I’d like to say I adore this (insert one specific thing about her here) the most, but I can’t. The whole package is just crazy palatable. Her writing style is seducingly smooth; her subject matter, quite literally devourable.

Spending endless hours in the scullery, or simply eating what comes your way, this master of many trades will arrive at your heart’s doorstep whether she journeys there mentally or digestively.

Molly started her blog in 2004 and published her book in 2009. Her blog is still going strong and her book is a must-read. She connects food, dishes and recipes with reflections and her descriptives will have you salivating. The cuisine is undeniably delectable but honest accounts of her days in Paris, her father and his passing will have your heart aching.

Her very first blog post is here and a glimpse into her book can be found here.

This post wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t acknowledge her grace and generosity. In March 2011, I emailed Molly, asking if she’d meet in an alley at Delancey (which she happens to own) during one of the nights I’d be in town. I never expected an answer, but thought it would be a good story, me explaining the nutty thing I’d attempted to pull off.

As luck would have it, she replied.

Within an hour…maybe less…I had an email from Molly Wizenberg saying; “Sure.”

I was ahh-mazed, ahh-stounded and ahh-bsolutely freakingout.

*Side Note: I am in no way encouraging anyone to follow my lead. This was over a year ago and ‘Mrs. Wizenberg’ has since started a second book, had a baby and opened another bar/restaurant (named Essex, FYI) and is, presumably, much, much busier than she was way back then.

I was very touched by her kindness and will never forget the evening or the experience. If you ever happen to read this, oh great one, I thank you from the bottom of my writer-reader heart.

Today, I’m struggling. Okay, I struggle most days, but we don’t need to go there.

Today, I am specifically struggling with my blog and what, if anything, to do with it. I took the appropriate steps in warning you that my premise would be murky and I think I was right on the mark there, but now, I’m wondering if that’s a problem. It may be a little too hazy…even for me.

I definitely love being able to write whatever it is I’m feeling that day or hone in on something that’s inspired me, but I now find myself contemplating whether or not I need to be more specific.

I’m toying with a second blog; a blog explicitly for fiction. A glass house in which my stories can live. Is this a good idea? Are blogs more fruitful when focused? Is it a no brainer? Am I slow off the line or is this a normal rate of progression? Is this progression? Or would I be spreading myself too thin?

Is there such a thing as too thin when it comes to writing?

Is this even something to worry about?Probably not. I know that, but worry and me…we’re kinda tight.